People - the way that I word that statement makes it seem that those multitudes of people are vast in their number, however those people might be real or imagined, one can never tell these things - always ask me why I never post on a regular schedule.

DISCLAIMER: This post is either slightly or extremely vulgar, depending upon the width of the relativity field which emanates from the gyroscope that is your mind. If you are put off by that sort of thing, then might I perhaps suggest something a bit more pleasant: cat videos.

Alright then. Here's another one for all of you miserable sods who content yourself with the idea that reading poetry to yourself aloud, within the confines of your own room after a few swigs of white wine straight from the bottle is slightly better than, say, spending the entirety of a night on the town in the back of some random nightclub and drowning your vodka in a pool of your own sorrows and smudging your tears with the soulless substance that was your mascara.

Once again, I am left alone; to discover ever wider discrepancies within my Kingdom of Introspection. Beyond the typified amalgamous carnival freaks and gong-crashing circus monkeys that normally dance across the awoken torment of my imagination, my mind is presently occupied with the vital, critical task of disseminating what sort of extracurricular transcontinental paradigm shifts that have fallen atop of my weakened resolve like falling pianos over the past week.

Sometimes there are stories that we really do not want to write. Sometimes these stories plague our dreams and haunt our days. They remind us, chillingly, of the fragility of the human condition - especially of our own insecurities.